Nevermore
by Kuro no Kage
Summary: Imagine you commit suicide. You don't expect to wake up, right? Well, that's the problem of a three years old child, on her quest to die for real. I know, sounds dark. But no worries! There'll also be some magic, Hogwarts, fun and friendship! Warnings: realistic self insert (as much as possible), self harm, suicide, rape.
1. Waking up

Hi guys!

I'm glad you came getting lost here!  
First warning, I'm French (don't be scared, I only bite annoying people). But yeah, I translated this myself, so if you notice anything weird, or spelling mistakes, please let me know.  
Second warning, on the content this time: this is a self insert fanfiction that may be trigering for some people. There will be mentions of self harm, suicide and rape. So if you think you can't handle it, don't read this. I will put a warning before the chapters that are the harder to read, in case you still want to read but avoid the worst parts.  
Third warning, less important but I still mention it: It is a Harry Potter fanfiction, but magic will take some time to appear in the story. It's normal, it's how it's supposed to be. So just be patient, you won't regret it!

That being said, I hope you'll enjoy reading this. I also publish it in French on this website, and it counts more than 20 chapters already, so I should be able to publish regularly (if people read it xD).  
Alike every author (I think) on this website I'm looking for feedback on my work and would apreciate constructive reviews. What do you like? What do you dislike? What do you think about this story...

Now, have fun reading!

* * *

_« But I am damned  
If life itself is condemnation  
I am immortal  
Thus my freedom is captivity »*_

_Kamelot-Across the highlands_

I'm slightly older than three when I "wake up". My memories, until now parcelled out, finally stabilized. I remember. I know. Although one thing remains a mystery to my eyes. How comes I'm still living? This, and all the related questions. The three last years passed by without my awareness, or almost. My young brain, brand new, assimilated English at a crazy rate. My body learnt, step by step (litterally, lol.), how to walk. I'm a healthy and functioning baby. I'm three years old. I'm living in London. My parents are quite wealthy. I don't really know what they do as a job, but they're rarely here. It's a governess that takes care of me, most often. She also maintains the house. House that is not exactly huge, but definitively not the kind that my parents-my former parents-could have afforded. I only have a vague idea of what those three last years have been. My consciousness is remained asleep, my "awoken" phases lasting more and more, until today. When I woke up this morning I remembered this other life, when I was French and was named Aurore*. The life where I died when I was seventeen. The last thing I can precisely remember, except today, is the moment I let myself fall when the pain caused by the poison became unbearable, giving me the momentum I needed to jump from the building. I remember. I remember everything.

It's three o'clock. The governess picks me up in the room where I was supposed to nap. It's time to go to the park. I surprise her by insisting to walk without her help, refusing to hold her hand. I notice that I lost my short-sightedness when reincarnating. First good news of the day… The still hesitating balance of my body confuses me a bit, but I know I won't have to endure it for too long. The governess, Mrs Winston, as I learn from her annoying "So, who is going to the park with Mrs Winston?" said in a "baby voice", is a white lady in her fifties. She has generous shapes and a hopping step.

I surprise her again when I prevent her from following me in the toilets, and she doesn't find anything better to do than applauding when she finds out I managed by myself. Apparently she's impressed by my amazing achievement. Finally, we go out of the house and cross a first road to head to the park. The neighbourhood we're in is clearly wealthy. The private houses aren't adjoining and their small wannabe gardens could almost really deserve the name "garden". Everything is peaceful and the sun shines in the cold but clear winter sky (and here I thought it was always raining in England). A hundred more meters suffice to reach to a quite wide boulevard, with a lot of cars. It's now or never.

The traffic light is red. I have to look normal. She didn't think about taking my hand when we got closer to the boulevard. I see a truck travelling towards us, quite fast. I don't pause to think about the pain or what will my new "parents" think. I'm not even sure any of this is real anyway. I tweet, perfect impression of an enthusiastic baby, and rush in the park's direction just when the truck is about to pass in front of us at full speed.

* * *

_*Aurore is a French name that translates into "dawn"._

And that's it for the introduction chapter. I know, it's super short. Let's say if some people review or just follow the story already tonight/tomorrow I'll try to translate the first chapter tomorrow evening.  
Otherwise I may wait for a week before publishing the next.  
Anyway, see you soon!

Greetings,

Kuro


	2. Course of action

Good evening/morning/whatever everyone!

First of all, I apologize, I wanted to publish earlier but well. Too exhausted and too much real life to get things done.  
Merry Christmas? ^^  
But now the chapter is here, and from now on I'll try to publish once a week until we'll catch up with the French version (depending on my mood and motivation I might publish faster xD)

A big thanks to the people who let me a review, I hope you'll enjoy the second chapter.

* * *

Reacting with a vivacity I'd never have expected from her, Mrs Winston catches my arm and violently pulls me towards her just when the truck was about to run over me. I fall on my back and the baby inside of me starts crying by reflex. I let go, too shocked myself to do anything. Somewhere in my head I'm blessing this natural reflex that will contribute to make this look like an accident. Who would imagine that a three years old is trying to kill herself, anyway? Mrs Winston, panicked, hugs me tight. I hate her touch, but the frantic beats of her heart allow me to get my head together. I set myself in autopilot, I don't have time to really collect my thoughts for now. Eventually, she lets me go and examinate me. I scraped my arm when I fell. She reprimands me, then tries to carry me home. I don't let her do, and move in every direction until she lets me go back to the ground and walk on my too short legs. This time I can't escape her hand, that holds mine gently but firmly.

Once we're home, she disinfects my wound and puts a band-aid without me saying against it. Which toddler would? She congratulates me for my bravery, because I didn't cry. Then she repeats me a last time to be careful before installing me in front of the TV to watch cartoons. After ten minutes of a series "for little good girls" full of candy pink, dolls and old men that are certainly paedophiles I'm sure of one thing: Mrs Winston is an evil being fully dedicated to make this… second life hell. Apparently preventing me from dying wasn't enough for her. After fifteen minutes she brings me a snack formed of big glass of milk and a banana. I eat everything, then tell her I don't want to watch the TV any more. She offers to read me a story, but I ask her if I can draw instead. She brings me paper sheets and coloured pencils, and I spend two good hours trying to control my right hand, than the left one, and find out that even if I feel more comfortable with the right one, there's no huge difference. Perfect! I can become ambidextrous if I train! I shake my head at that thought. As if I'd live for long… But instantly, another though, chilling, imposes itself on me: If I didn't die the first time, what grants me the second attempt will work?

Mrs Winston isn't far, so I push this thought back with the others, in a corner of my head. I'll think about it later, when I'll be alone. My parents aren't coming tonight, and at some point I can finally lie down in my bed, exhausted from fighting the governess to be allowed to wash myself alone. She insisted on verifying, and I really hope what she saw convinced her that I could manage alone in the future. I try really hard to forget what I felt, naked while she was examining me and rather focus on the most important, respectively my unpleasant and unplanned resurrection.

For what I know, no matter how absurd this sentence is, I was born on the very same day I killed myself. I don't remember anything after the moment I jumped from the roof. I was never interested in all those reincarnation stories, never was fascinated by eternal life. I know vaguely the karma stories, but I doubt it makes sense in my case. I don't see how my deeds, in my previous life, could have allowed me to reincarnate richer and here, for instance. I don't know if what happened to me is a first, but in any case it's in the best case extremely rare. I wasn't really interested in the topic, that's right, but the world would know if people would remember living another life before in full detail. Oh, I'll have to check by the way if the life I remember really existed. I don't really doubt it, but a quick internet search would allow me to be certain. In any case, I didn't have such memories in my first life, and I never met anyone in my case. So I guess I have good odds to succeed to die at my next attempt, as long as I plan it a bit instead of panicking as I did earlier. Unless I'm special and can't die at all. In that case I could work on fry my brain until I can't have a conscious thought any more. Well, if I was resuscitating again, I'd maybe have three quiet years before having to remember again, that's already something.

For now anyway, I don't want to tempt fate at the risk to resurrect again and lose years before being able to make my researches. Although if after some time I don't find anything then I could as well try again. I won't bear the memories and the nightmares for a lifetime. I'm strong enough to do it all over again. First thing to do is checking if my memories are real. Then, do research on reincarnation and resurrection myths and look for testimonies, see if someone already lived (and re-lived) similar things. I don't plan on talking about all of this to anyone: if no one was trustworthy in my first life, how could I confide in anyone now, especially with this body and this background?

_« Mes parents m'ont appelée Aurore, ils auraient dû m'appeler Crépuscule. L'aurore, c'est le début de quelque chose de brillant, c'est l'éblouissant recommencement du jour. Alors que moi, je ne fais que m'éteindre, et je n'aspire à rien. Et même si dans la nuit les étoiles brillent, elles sont froides et figées, comme ce qu'il reste de moi. Elles finiront dans une explosion, elle disparaîtront. Comme moi. Oh, ces lueurs si lointaines qu'il me faudrait encore saisir, si ce sont les espoirs que les gens louent ! Mais l'espoir est toxique, l'espoir est l'Ennemi. Je suis Crépuscule. La lumière qui disparaît, le silence qui s'installe. La promesse d'une nuit sombre, et le repos, enfin »_

-Extract from a notebook belonging to Aurore Berger, written three months before her death-

* * *

_*"My parents called me Aurore (Dawn), they should have called me Crépuscule (Dusk). Dawn, it's the beginning of something bright, it's the blinding new start of the day. While me, I'm just shutting down, and I'm not striving at anything. And even if the stars are shinning in the night, they're cold and frozen, like what's left of me. They will end up in an explosion, they'll dissapear. Like me. Oh, those distant glimmers that I should still be catching, if they're those hopes that people are worshiping! But hope is toxic, hope is the Foe. I am Dusk. The light fading away, the silence settling in. The promise of a dark night, and sleep, eventually."_

* * *

So, that's it!  
Let me know if you'd find another option better for the translation. As my character was born French in her first life, you'll see some things in her original language, sometimes. I'll always translate it, but for a better immersion I want to let it in French in the text, the way I did for the English parts in the French version.

Hope you enjoyed, and that you'll let me things to read xD

Take care,

A giant blueberry that is able to fly!


	3. Progress

Hey guys!

Sorry I didn't publish despite my plan to do it once a week. Christmas and real life got in my way.  
So yeah, I'll just publish randomely but try to do it once a week xD

_Short answer to the guest review, as I can't PM this guy (if you have an account of ffnet please use it to review, so that I'll be able to PM you next time): First of all thanks for your review, that's exactly the kind of constructive things I want to read. I'm here to share, but also to learn!_  
_The problem with this fic is that it's a litteral translation from my French one, so it's hard for me to change the form. Also, another difficulty to the dialogues is that for now she hardly interacts with anyone. _  
_For the part where you're saying she's three years old... The thing is that she has the body of the three years old, but her mind is older (17 to be precise). That's one of the two things in my fic that don't really have an explanation, with magic . With that I mean that there's an explanation, later, for how she can be alive. But I let alone how can her 17 years old mind work in a 3 years old brain._  
_In any case, I keep your explanations in a corner of my mind and will use it if I write a novel/an other fic in English, and I'll try to modify slightly my chapters later if I find an idea how to make it sound more "English"._

Now, enjoy!

* * *

I start my researches as planned the day after. I wait for being alone (when Mrs Winston is busy cooking) to get closer to the computer that rests on a table in the living room. I climb clumsily the chair of the desk facing it and turn the computer on. I instantly run into an unplanned problem: I need to enter a password on the lock screen which I don't have. I try my first name, my birthsday date, my parents' name, qwerty, but nothing works. I guess that Mrs Winston will probably be done soon from the tantalizing smell spreading in the corridors. Containing my impatience I turn off the computer. Just on time, as the governess enters the room and tells me to come eat. I follow her, insisting again to walk without her holding my hand. If she really wants to keep me alive and preserve her physical integrity, she'd better leave me be and avoid any unnecessary physical contact with me.

Unaware of my thoughs, Mrs Winstons helps me, to my chagrin, to sit at the table. The meal at least is tasty, and I even make the effort of thanking her, which seems to make her overly happy. I can't get access to the computer any more this day, which definitively alters my mood, and I use my time snooping around trying to find the password.

In the evening, I finally "meet" my parents. My father comes home first. He wears a strict suit and tie and is still young but his features already look tired. He's probably in his thirties and work in a human resources company although I don't know what he does exactly. My mother arrives half an hour later, about 20:30. She also wears a strict outfit, like the modern and respectable business woman she is. She works as head of communications between her travel agency and its partners. She kisses me on the forehead before going in her room to change clothes, then I eventually have the opportunity to attend my first "family meal". Mrs Winston does the service diligently. My parents are quiet calm. They talk about their day, check with the governess that I didn't lack anything and that everything was fine. I doubt she told them about the truck… Even if she saved my life, it probably wouldn't sound good to admit there has been a situation where it was needed… I'm probably too cynical. Thinking about it, even if it's the case I don't give a shit.

Mrs Winston confirms that we spent a nice day together, and take this opportunity to boast my incredible progress, what am I saying? Mind-blowing! "She insists to walk without holding my hand, and she's even able to go to the toilets and wash without help!". My parents smile, and tell me that I'm a big girl and that they're proud of me. I have to restrain myself from hitting my head against the table until complete destruction from the table or my head. What the fuck am I doing here? Instead I just tell them that I can totally manage alone and I feel their discomfort, as well as Mrs Winston's. I am too calm, too poised, for the age they think I am. I am too mature.

_« Mes parents… Des personnes avec qui je possède un lien que je n'ai ni choisi ni voulu, des étrangers. Des êtres dont je me demande parfois qui a eu l'idée folle de leur donner la possibilité de concevoir. Pour ce que ça a donné ! Si je pouvais ne jamais avoir existé, jamais. Il n'y a rien qui me relie à mes géniteurs. Une vague affection peut-être, mais jamais aussi forte que ma rancœur à l'idée de simplement exister. Est-ce qu'ils se sont posé la moindre question, avant de nous avoir, mon frère et moi ? Mon frère… Et maintenant il est mort, et ça n'a rien changé. Enfin, mes parents sont maintenant séparés. Je n'arrive même pas à les plaindre. C'est étrange, mais je ne me sens pas vraiment concernée. »_

-Extract from a notebook of Aurore Berger, five months before her death-

_*"My parents… People with whom I share a link I neither chose nor wanted, strangers. Beings whom I wonder who had the crazy idea to give them the possibility to conceive children. For what good it did! If I could have never existed, ever. There's nothing binding me to my progenitors. A vague affection maybe, but not as strong as the resentment at the simple idea of existing. Did they ask themselves a single question, before having us, my brother and I? My brother… And now he's dead, and it didn't change a thing. Well, my parents are now divorced. I'm not even able to pity them. It's strange, but I don't really feel concerned."_

* * *

And that's it for this chapter already.  
The chapters get longer later, and I know the story starts pretty slowly. I think about merging some of the latter chapters together, it'll probably be better.

See you soon,

Kuro


	4. Confirmation

Hey guys!

Well, sorry, a long time again since the last publication.  
I hope I'll be faster on the next one.  
Enjoy!

* * *

It's only one week after "waking up" that I can finally access the internet. My mother is at work and Mrs Winston went out shopping. Mly father is working on his laptop in the living room and I'm supposed to be watching cartoons. Eventually he streches up and tells me to remain good while he's showering. I haven't been "awake" for a long time, but the adults already noticed my maturity and independence, and aren't too scared for me to do anything stupid while they aren't there. Well okay, Mrs Winston might be slightly paranoid around me, but the truck almost ran over me less than a week ago, so she has mitigating circumstances.

As soon as I'm sure that my "dad" won't come back ny time soon I rush towards his laptop. It his unlocked. I open a new tab on the browser, refusing to hesitate, I don't have time for it.

And I write, in French, that language haunting my memories: "Aurore Berger suicide novembre 2006". First test is conclusive: according to the amount of results, I indeed know how to speak French. I click a bit randomly on a link and get on a website that is probably not of the best quality, but that gives me the confirmation I was looking for. My memories are real. My eyes read the article, once, twice, three times.

_«C'est le mercredi 15 Novembre au soir que le drame est survenu. Une adolescente de 17 ans, Aurore Berger, s'est donné la mort en sautant du toit d'un immeuble jouxtant l'hôpital de Charpennes, à Lyon. Ce sont des infirmiers qui l'ont trouvé pendant leur service, et elle a pu être identifiée grâce à ses papiers d'identité. Sa disparition n'avait pas été signalée._

_La jeune fille venait de commencer, à la rentrée, une terminale scientifique. Elle avait des notes dans la moyenne, et son trépas brutal est un choc pour l'équipe enseignante comme pour ses camarades de classe, comme en témoignent ces mots : « Elle était toujours souriante, et adorait faire des blagues. Elle avait des facilités qu'elle n'exploitait pas vraiment, mais ne causait jamais de problèmes. »._

_Alors, si l'échec scolaire n'est pas relié à la décision de la jeune fille, pourquoi commettre un acte si définitif ?_

_La mère d'Aurore s'est refusée à tout commentaire, mais son père, très éprouvé, nous fournit une piste de réflexion « Elle a perdu son frère, il y a deux ans, dans un accident de la route. Ils étaient très proches. Pourtant, quand je la voyais, elle me paraissait résolue à prendre sa vie en main… Je ne comprends pas… ». Les parents d'Aurore, séparés depuis la mort de son frère se partageaient la garde de leur fille. _

_Aucun diagnostic concernant une possible maladie mentale n'avait été fait. Pourtant, l'autopsie a révélé de nombreuses marques de scarifications sur le corps de la victime. Qui était Aurore ? Une malade qui a dissimulé sa folie a ses proches ? Une adolescente dont la souffrance à la mort de son frère est passée inaperçue ? Aurore n'a laissé aucune lettre expliquant son geste qui demeurera sans doute un mystère. Ses amis se sont refusés à tout commentaire.»_

_"It's on Wednesday, the 15__th__ of November that the tragedy occurred. A 17 years old teenager, Aurore Berger, took her own life by jumping from the roof of a building next to the Charpennes hospital, in Lyon. It is nurses that found her during their service and she has been identified thanks to her identity documents. Her dissapearance hadn't been reported._

_ The young lady had just started, in september, a scientific terminale. She had average marks, and her sudden death is a shock for the teaching team as well as for her classmates as demonstrated by these words: "She was always smiling, and loved playing jokes. She had a knack for studies that she wasn't really using, but she was never causing any trouble._

_So, if academic failure is not linked to the young lady's decision, why commit such a definitive act?_

_Aurore's mother refused to tell us anything, but her dad, deeply upset, gives us some beginning of explanation: "She lost her brother, two years ago, in a car accident. They were really close. Although, when __we were meeting__, she seemed determined to get her life together... I don't understand...". Aurore's parents, divorced since her brother's death, were sharing custody of their daughter._

_ No diagnosis has been done regarding a potential mental health disorder. However, the autopsy revealed a lot of scarification marks on the victim's body. Who was Aurore? A sick girl that hid her sickness to her relatives? A teenager whose suffering following her brother's death remained unnoticed? _

_ Aurrore didn't leave any note to explain her gesture that will probably remain a mistery. Her friends remained silent."_

And under the article, some recommandations: "Those teenagers that go always further to attract attention", "My child refuses to eat, what can I do?" and "Education: The alternatives for pupils who are failing school". I hurry to close this tab that confirms that I didn't imagine anything. Reflexively I press ctrl+h keys and luckily for me it also works with English keyboards. I remove from the history the pages I visited. I push deep down inside of me all my feelings, the pain, and goes back to sitting in front of the TV. Later. Later. Don't break down before the evening.

_ « Parfois j'ai peur de ce que je deviens, j'ai honte. Je suis un monstre. J'arrive plus à m'attacher à personne, je ressens plus rien. Je ne peux faire confiance à personne après tout. Je comprends pas pourquoi Quentin s'acharne à essayer de me parler, il croit quoi ? Je vais juste lui faire du mal si je reste avec lui de toute façon. Ne rien dire à personne. Garder mes pensées pour moi. Et continuer à faire semblant. Jusqu'à quand ? »_

_ "Sometimes I'm scared of what I'm becoming, I'm ashamed. I'm a monster. I can't bound with anyone any more, I don't feel anything any more. I can't trust anyone after all. I don't understand why Quentin keeps trying to talk to me, what does he expects? I will just hurt him if I stay with him anyway. Don't tell anything to anyone. Keeping my thoughts for myself. And keep prentending. Until when?"_

-Extract of a notebook of Aurore Berger, two months before her death-

* * *

And that's it.

Short explanation about French scholar system:  
We start in "école maternelle" from 3 to 5 years old, then go to "école primaire" from 6 to 10 years old. After that comes collège (11 to 15), and lycée (from 16 to 18). On the second year of lycée, until this year, we could choose between scientific, socio-economic or litterary. Terminale is the last year of lycée.

See you next time.


	5. Bad night

Greetings to the few people reading this xD

I'm sorry to have once again taken so long to publish.  
Good news for you is that I'm now confined and remember that translation exist, so I think I'll just publish one chapter a day or every two days for a while. Maybe I'll even publish more than once a day, dunno.  
If someone is motivated to beta read me, I'd really appreciate, cause I'm not always sure whether the words I use sound natural in English, and I might also be mixing US and British English xD

I hope I'll get some feedback from you, but in any case I let you enjoy the chapter.  
_TW: self harm_

* * *

When Mrs Winston finally puts me into bed, I wait for a few minutes to be sure she won't come back before letting myself remember. First, I recall my childhood, and my parents, the real ones. They were in love when I was young. They loved me, they loved Jérémie. My brother. Asshole. Asshole. Thinking about him make my thoughts travel into time, skipping at a fast rate the memories of holidays at the beach, camping, summer camps, school, high school. Everything. So fast. And him. So wrong. He even managed to ruin the past. Every second spent with him, even joyful, destroyed by his treason. "You were happy, sure, but see what came next. See.". And I see. I remember. I curl into a bowl. The powerlessness. The incomprehension. Be like paralysed, unable to act nor react. Is it even real? It is, it's too ugly to be a dream. Even if it's surrealist. "Stop. Stop. Stop." Litany trapped in my head that he couldn't hear and that wouldn't have changed a thing. The tears that came eventually, when he went away, when I realized. In my bed in London, I can't catch my breath. I am still scared. I try to bite myself, but my teeth are too young, it doesn't relieve me. I try to hit the wall next to me, but I'm so weak. I'm unable to calm down. I curl up even tighter, I hold myself as tight as possible. I put my head under the pillow to muffle my tears. But I still know how to cry silently. I didn't forget my reflexes. My mind knows what my body hasn't learn yet.

I remember. The loneliness, at first. The incomprehension. I never talked about what happened with Jérémie, we both pretended nothing had happened. I hated him. Physical contact revolted me. I isolated myself. Above all, I hated myself. I started cutting, it helped calming me down, channelling myself. I was made of ice, acting as if nothing could reach me, as if I didn't need anyone. And actually, nothing was able to reach me, I was way too deep, way to captive inside my pain. And then, six months later, my brother died in a car accident. Common death. And my dad at the burial that didn't want to know anything. He didn't want to listen to me. My parents tore each other apart. My dad left to live far away. Meanwhile, the countless marks on my arms, my legs, my belly, were always more and always deeper. It was fine for me. It was my way to stand my ground, and to pay.

But then, I met Quentin. Thinking about him makes me forget about the rest to open an enormous hole in my chest. As if there was nothing. So empty! I'm running out of air. He did everything he could to help me. He took time, he learnt everything about me. He let me walk at my own pace. He took care of me. And I died! I've lost him. I loved him so much. The pain, the pain is always there. Why would he have kept worrying about me? I was a weight. He had to be happy. I should have died. Fuck, why am I still alive? Why? Why...  
I needed him, I called him before doing it, killing myself. But he couldn't take care of me. It was right to swallow the poison. I did well jumping off that roof. I did well getting him rid of me. He can be happy now. He can be free. And I have to mare sure to die for real. I have to inform myself. I'll find the answers. I'm not able to focus right now, everything is too painful. I need to cut. It'll be fine afterwards.

I get up. I try to move towards the bathroom, but I'm not very discreet, in my young body. Yet I reach my goal without waking anyone up. I think shortly and turn around. I sneak into my father's office and climb his desk with the help of his chair. I find his cutter. I look for the spare blades. Taking the cutter would be too visible. I eventually find them and try to let everything in the same state I found it. I get some tissues before finally heading back to my room. I can't contain myself any more. I take the blade and rapidly draw fire lines on my arms with my clumsy hands. Again. Again. Again. The pain releases me. The pain burns me. But the pain is vital to me. I calm down pretty fast however, it's like getting out of the fog. I'm supposed to be a three years old! How the hell will I hide this?

xxx

_« Certains paradis sont des mirages_  
_Parfois tu te perds au détour d'un virage_  
_Tu ne reconnais plus ton propre visage_  
_Tu te retournes pour observer ton sillage_

_Quand ai-je donc perdu ma voie ?  
_ _Pourquoi fallait il que je me confie à toi ?_  
_J'aurais mieux fait de suivre ma loi  
_ _Plutôt que d'écouter l'espoir auquel tu crois »_

x

"_Some paradises are mirage_  
_Sometimes you get lost in the curve of a turn_  
_You can't recognize your own face any more_  
_You turn back to observe your trail_

_When have I lost my way?  
_ _Why did I need to confide in you?  
_ _I should have rather followed my law_  
_Instead of listening to hope you believe into"_

-SMS sent by Aurore Berger to Quentin Lemage on the fifth of August 2006-

* * *

At least if I really rush the translations, you should finally see her interact with other human beings relatively soon, and also see that it's really a HP fic, cause for now I know it's not obvious.

See you and stay safe,

Kuro


	6. Years going by

Hi guys,

This new chapter was sponsored by random motivation brought by reviews. Welcome DraconicDuelist, and thanks a lot for your feedback that reminded me I wanted to publish xD

Hope you'll enjoy it. In next chapter, she'll finally interact with other humans! I know, it's amazing, right?

* * *

With the morning's light I think to myself that I didn't need to worry. The cuts that seemed so deep and so many yesterday are already almost erased. I'm surprised, but it's good. I guess I was just really tired… I still hurry up to get dressed before the arrival of my… progenitor, in order to make sure she won't see anything. The days goes by smoothly, as well as the following weeks, although I cut again pretty often. But thanks to that I'm able to hold on.

In contrast, my research on how the hell I resurrected are not exactly progressing. Even if the adults around me are starting to see me as an extremely mature and early child, my freedom of movement is almost non-existent. No one is ready to see me use the computer, or reading a book about Buddhism.

When comes the moment to send me to school, I survive one day, then refuse to go there ever again. That's how I start learning with a private tutor, paid by my parents. I hide of course the extent of my knowledge, but not fully. I develop my English vocabulary and start learning Spanish, that I never had learn but always wanted to. My tutor is instructed to go towards the fields that seem to attract me. My body learns how to write, and I'm truly release to be able to create poems again, that I burn inevitably so that no one can see them, especially since I'm writing in French, a language that I'm not supposed to know.

The scars are multiplying on my body like the days and nights of my second life. The pain, faithful companion, gets less sharp, stifled by the routine even it doesn't really get weaker. Thinking that dying will not necessary kill me keeps enforcing my feeling of suffocation. I'm imprisoned in my own head, imprisoned in my memories.

A new pain quickly adds up to those of the memories thousand times rehashed: I miss Quentin. While I grow up alone, I often think of him. Guiltiness, love, regrets, pain caused by the rejection. With him, it was already hard to hold on. And now, only the silence remains. I'm insensitive to everything but pain. I lost my feelings again, and to be honest it's a relief. However, when I think of him, the void in me almost takes its shape, the shape of our happy memories. Sometimes I'd almost rather think of Jérémie. After finding the password of the computer I spend countless hours googling his name, the one of old acquaintances, hungry for the smallest piece of information. I don't find much, except his parents' landline number, cause he's kinda discrete. I don't remember his phone number, which saves me long hours of torturing myself to know whether I should call him or not, just to hear his voice again. I'm tempted of course to try and call at his parents'. But I never yield to the temptation and I know it's better for both of us if I never try to get back in touch.

Despite everything, I live moments that I have to accept as bearable, in absence of happiness. I started climbing pretty soon, and I regularly practice in a sports hall on the other side of the city. I like to focus on the wall, and to be up high. I almost feel more at ease when I'm not on the ground. That's also the only moment when I frequent other human beings than Mrs Winston, my tutor and my parents. I don't bond with anyone, and I'm the youngest of the course, but I think it still does me some good, somehow. I exploit my apparent age to sneak into building sites, abandoned houses or just climb buildings. I get caught once or twice, because I take more risks than I would have with my original appearance, but I can allow myself that, as I just need to cry a bit and look lost to be left in peace. I'm pretty young when I found a way to leave my parents' home without them noticing, with the help of a rope and a self-locking handle that I stole from climbing. I would have preferred buying them, but I don't have money. So I just consider it as borrowing until I have enough money to buy it myself. I also learn how to ski when my parents understand that I like sport and bring me with them in Austria. Sport… On one hand I like physical exhaustion, even stronger in by child's body, and on the other hand I dream of forging by body, no matter how long I'll stay in it, to control it, climb, fly… Dream of a perfect control on my movements, of flexibility and harmony in my gestures, far away from the chaos of my mind.

xx

_« Survivre n'est pas vivre, tu ne dois pas te contenter d'exister » Pourquoi il est pas content de ça déjà ? Je croyais qu'il voulait pas que je meure, tout ça. Je fais ce que je peux. Il me faut du temps… Ou bien peut-être qu'il a raison, et que ça sert à rien. Et si je ne peux pas vivre, je peux tout aussi bien mourir. « Je tiens à toi » Pourquoi ? Je ne lui apporte rien… Et je sais pourtant qu'il m'est cher. Pourquoi je dois encore m'attacher aux gens ? Pourquoi à chaque fois je me fais avoir ?_

"_Surviving is not living, you shouldn't just exist". Why isn't he happy with that again? I thought he didn't want me to die, and stuff. I'm doing what I can. I need time… Or maybe he's right and it's useless. And if I can't live, I can as well die. "I care about you". Why? I don't bring him anything… And yet I know he's precious to me. Why do I have to attach myself again to people? Why do I get caught every time?_

-Extract from one of Aurore Berger's notebooks, four months before her death-

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Thanks for reading and hopefully see you soon for the next chapter!

(if I got reviews I'm more likely to remember I have to post xD)

Kuro


	7. The lighthouse

Hi everyone!

I hope you're surviving the crisis, not getting too bored nor crazy (a bit of craziness is always good tho, I speak with experience). Anyway, here's finally a slightly longer chapter, that I took way too long to translate and where you'll finally learn the name of the protagonist!  
Next chapter will be even longer, and really important (spoiler alert: magic will finally appear!).  
Hope you'll enjoy this one and let me a thousand reviews (one can hope).

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August 2013. I'm six years old. Or twenty-three, if you count my other life, but I'm not feeling like an adult. My development is frozen, blocked by my obsession of finding an answer then killing myself. I'm a taciturn, dark and dreadfully smart kid. The adults are uneasy around me, even my parents have been contaminated. Their hesitant affection is awkward, even for them. They feel like I'm slipping away from them, when they actually never got me. They feel that I'm different, and they can't really handle it.

I grew up alone. My crazy theories, my compulsive researches didn't bring any convincing result. I start being out of patience. Every day I have the feeling of being closer to insanity. More and more, I think about giving up and trying to kill myself again just to see if I'll reincarnate again. However, I don't do it, not yet. Out of fear. And also because the situation could be worse.

This week my parents are sending me to a camp on a small island close to a coastal city. It's a one week camp for "difficult" or "different" children. As good a way as any for the wealthy parents to get rid of their progeny for some time while keeping a good conscience. Apparently, mine think that frequenting children of my age (and coming from the same background as my reincarnation) could be beneficial for me. Oh, they don't see me as sick or insane. But there's this je-ne-sais-quoi in me (I know what, they don't) that makes them uneasy and scares them.

I don't expect much from this camp, but after all I always loved traveling, so why not change air… At least Mrs Winston will get off my back for some time. She's nice, but apparently impervious to my aura screaming "get out and don't even dare try touching me again, you cunt!" at every moment (yes, my aura is vulgar). Once at the holiday camp, I'm the youngest (but certainly not the most immature). We're about fifteen children between six and fifteen. Two adults and a cook are in charge of us. They explain us upon arrival that we'll be quite free. There will be activities proposed to which we can sign up, but otherwise we'll be free to do whatever we please as long as we stay on the camp's grounds.

I sign up for climbing, jet ski (one of those things I would never have had the opportunity to try in my first life) but move away from the manual activities. I like doing some, but not supervised.. We're hosted in four people dormitories, but luckily we're only three girls. I take possession of the upper bed of the bunk bed without hesitation and put my bag on the lower couch, letting the two kids (once is eleven and the other thirteen) take the twin beds on the other side of the room. They ignore me, finding me too young for their "grown up" discussions, and not talkative enough anyway. I find it convenient, cause I wouldn't have had the patience to speak with them.

Once my stuff is installed I retrieve my blue notebook before joining the refectory where we're supposed to attend a welcome meeting. I've had this notebook for six months already, and I never leave it. I covered the pages with poems, mostly written in French, in my still unskillful writing. I encoded most of it to be sure to be the only one to understand. I worked a bit on it to be able to attach a pen to it, and I hide some razor blades inside the cover. Might as well say that I watch this notebook very closely, it is one of my two most cherished possessions, the second one being a small dagger that I stole in one of my great uncle's manor that I always keep tied to my ankle.

At the welcome meeting I discover the other participants. Other than my two roommates there's two cousins, Arthur and James Clifford (their family is part of the English aristocracy) aged respectively twelve and thirteen, a kind of goth scarecrow around fifteen and some others that I don't even bother to notice aged between eight and fourteen years old. We obediently follow our leaders that make us visit the four stars campsite, showing us the borders. Apart from this territory, we're allowed to walk to the beach below if we're in a group, but not to swim. There's a swimming pool inside of the campsite that we are allowed to use freely if we pass a swimming test prepared by the leaders. I decide to take it as soon as possible, and to simply ignore the instructions regarding "not going to the beach on our own". I don't want to mingle with those kids. Well, maybe with the older ones, if it's absolutely mandatory.

By luck it is possible to attend the test at the beginning of the afternoon already, which I pass easily. As a matter of fact I've learned swimming pretty early, and climbing gave endurance to my kid's muscles. While dressing, I think to myself that this body isn't that bad. It's healthy, muscled but not too much (I don't really want to destroy that body by doing too much sport), slim but not skinny (it helps to already be aware of the use of a healthy lifestyle at three years old), tanned. Green eyes, straight black hair cut short, it looks like my previous life's except for the color. Scars as well, but rather discrete. My growing body erases them fast, which is good, cause I wouldn't have been able to hide them forever, and the excuses "It was a cat" or "I feel in the brambles" have their limits.

The first days of camp go quietly. We do climbing, and I find myself in a group with the Clifford cousins, James being the only one apart from me that knows how to climb. As I'm too light to belay him, his cousin Arthur has to take care of it. This guy is a bit strange. He seems confused by everything around him, and keeps on whispering with his cousin all the time. This matter put aside, I find the two boys rather sympathetic, especially James, who his quite reckless and who despite my apparent age ends up doing challenges with me. Who will keep his head under water the longest? Who will be the fastest to climb the wall, but blind? Who will do the coolest dive at the swimming pool? Arthur never go far from James, and tries our challenges as well after I made him notice that even a six-years old girl could take them.

On the third day, as I'm walking on the beach, after escaping the relative vigilance from the adults, I notice a seemingly abandoned lighthouse. There's no one around, except the cousins. I hesitate briefly before calling them, and convince them to follow me. I don't do it because I appreciate them, even if it plays a bit of a role. It's mostly to avoid them telling everything to the adults by making them accomplices. We walk for about ten minutes before reaching our goal. The lighthouse is about thirty meter high, and my child size makes I even more impressive. It is made of old, slightly unsealed stones. We walk around the building, and I see a broken window, pretty small, two meters above the ground. Arthur gives me a leg up, and I slide into the opening, cutting myself on the way with a shard of glass.

I land inside almost safely, just slightly imbalanced. It's quite dark, but I can distinguish some scrap on the ground, and I move towards the door. A bar is blocking it, that I remove, then try to open the door to let the cousins come in. The door moves a bit, but doesn't open. I'm too weak. Arthur and James ask me what is happening, and I tell them to break the door down. I move to the side, and after a short hesitation they try without conviction. The door gives way almost immediately, and the boys join me. While they're getting used to the darkness, I go to the half destroyed stairs and start climbing it without hesitation. They follow me after some protestations. "Dangerous"… If they knew…

There's a room halfway from the top, which rotten wooden floor doesn't seem reliable to me. Fortunately, I am light. I recommend to the others to stick to the walls, and go first into the room. Arthur catches my arm, and ask:  
"You're sure we shouldn't stop here? It doesn't look solid…"  
"Do whatever you please", I say, freeing myself. "I will keep going. The view will probably be great at the top."

He doesn't insist and just rolls his eyes. He follows me, then James brings up the rear. The top of the lighthouse is a bit collapsed, and the end of the stairs is a pile of debris. The lamp is broken, as well as the windows that used to protect the people working here in the past from the wind. I step closer to the void, made happy by the wind whistling in my ears. I almost feel the call of the void, I remember the times I was afraid of jumping. I barely felt anything when I crashed on the ground, when I died. Or I don't remember. I think it healed me from the spontaneous apprehension I used to feel, before, at the idea of jumping into the air without water below. The view sweeps far. A panicked exclamation from Arthur gets me out of my thoughts.  
"Vivian, you're bleeding!" He shows my arm and indeed, there's a nice gash on it. I remember I cut myself at the window. I shrug.  
"It's nothing, I will survive."  
"You need to heal!"  
"No worries, you'll see when I'll have cleaned it with sea water, it's not much."  
Arthur doesn't look convinced, but doesn't add anything. James shrugs his shoulders and calls me stubborn, but I feel like I accidentally impressed them a bit. We remain some more minutes on the top before carefully going back down. We leave the lighthouse after trying to put back the door correctly so that no one finds out that the building is open.

I clean up my wound hastily while joking with the cousins. They're not really mature, but I work with what I'm given, and they seem to have forgotten my alleged age, which I appreciate. I refuse to put on any bandage, preferring to let the cut in the open air. It stopped bleeding anyway. I tell the cousins to answer that I fell on a pointy rock, if anyone asks questions. We arrive at the camp just in time for the meal, that we share, sitting together at a table. I decide that James and Arthur will make decent distractions for the rest of the camp. And, who knows, maybe I'll be able to discover what they're trying to hide? Teenagers' secrets, probably. But my instinct tells me those kids are interesting.

_Danser avec les nuages  
__Aller gravir le ciel  
__Enlacer ses mirages  
__M'enivrer de son miel_

_S'éveiller dans la nuit  
__Quitter les lieux clos  
__M'enfuir ou je puis  
__Ne pas éclater en sanglots_

_Étoiles froides et brillantes  
__Vide intersidéral et béant  
__Obscurité rassurante  
__Me fondre avec le néant*_

xxx

_Danse with the clouds  
Climb up the sky  
Embrace its mirages  
__Get drunk from its honey_

_Wake up in the night  
__Leave the enclosed spaces  
__Run away where I can  
__Don't burst into tears_

_Cold and bright stars  
__Interstellar and gaping void  
__Reassuring darkness  
__Blend in with nothingness_

-Extract from a notebook from Aurore Berger, 14/10/07-

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That's it for this chapter! First discussions with human beings! I know, it's amazing. Well, at the point where I am with the French part, it's mostly talking xD  
But hey, enjoy the silence!

I'll hopefully post the next chapter soon.

Stay safe,

Kuro


	8. The end of innocence

Hi!

Here's one of the most important chapters of this fic, that I'm finally done translating. I want to thank DraconistDuelist for helping me with the correction.

Enjoy!

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It's already the last full day of camp. Yesterday, I tried jet-ski for the first time ever. It was both exhilarating and frustrating. Exhilarating, because of the speed and the maneuverability of the thing. Frustrating, because we could only ride it for ten minutes and even worse: we were not allowed to drive. Anyway. Today, most of the children went with three of the four adults to a kind of huge outdoor party. It's out of question for me to go there, I'm sure there's hundred of kids… I'm fine with making an effort and socializing a little, but there's a limit. Instead I went back to the lighthouse.

I'm up there writing since about twenty minutes already when I see a kid coming towards me between the dunes. I recognize him pretty soon with his brown hair. It's Arthur. That is why I don't worry when I hear someone climbing carefully the stairs to join me. He gets closer and sits next to me with caution. I finish writing my verse before looking at him. I wonder what he's doing there, without his cousin to whom he's usually clinging to.  
"I thought you'd be there."  
"And you were right. You came without James?"  
"He went to the party, but I wasn't interested. I told him to go without me, he doesn't need to force himself to stay for me, and you're there."  
"Seems so."

I'm not sure to be happy about having company, but at least Arthur is pretty chilled for a twelve years old. It's the first time that I see him on his own, and he seems pretty confident nevertheless. That could be an opportunity to learn more about him, to understand what is strange with him. Not that I'm much interested, but it can be distracting.

Eventually, he breaks the silence and asks what I'm doing. I explain him that I'm writing poems, and when he asks to see one I'm a bit reluctant. I end up finding a neither encoded or compromising poem about nature, written in English, which I let him read but without releasing my notebook.

_Waves, oceans and stars  
__Melted together as I fall apart  
__Like a giant galaxy of luminescent scars  
__An entire universe full of art_

_Always moving  
__Always changing  
__Never the same as yesterday  
__Moving water all day_

He reads carefully and silently. I know it's not amazing, but I still like that poem. When he's done reading I put my notebook back in my shoulder bag. Arthur congratulates me for my writing, but I don't show him any more. We go down to the beach after a few minutes of silence.

Once there we see Erwan, one of the youngest kids of the camp playing a few meters away form two "grown ups" (understand fourteen years old). I expect Arthur to spontaneously join them, but he stays next to me, hesitating. For once that his cousin is not around he has to cling on to me, right? Anyway, in the end we just sit in the sand and the two boys, William and Jens (Erwan's big brother) join us. They propose us to play cards, and we end up starting a kems round.

After four or five rounds, I notice a man sitting close to Erwan, and staring at us. He seems to be about forty years old, and I watch him from the corner of my eye. His insisting look at me is extremely unpleasant. I still manage to focus on the game after making my team loose two rounds in a row. After some time, I've forgotten the creepy guy. It's only when Jens realizes his brother his gone that we stop playing. The strange man disappeared as well. We split to look for Erwan, in the direction he probably went to, cause we'd have noticed if he'd have walked past us.

We find him fast. He's holding the worrying man's hand, walking by his side. He ignores our calls so we run behind them to catch up to them. They're already far away on the beach, but after two minutes we manage to reach them. With his long teenager's legs, Jens arrives first, and shouts at the guy:  
"Where are you bringing my brother?"  
"Oh, it's your brother? I should have seen it." The man has a though voice, but he tries to make it sound friendly.  
"He was coming to my home. We talked a bit and he was intrigued by my models. I'm a collector, actually. As I'm living nearby I thought he could come to see them, and eat something. You can join us of course, there's enough food for everyone."  
I cut in without letting time to Jens to answer: "I think we'll rather eat at our camp."

I'm absolutely not comfortable. I don't really know what that man is looking for, but I'd bet it's better for us to go away as fast as possible. Maybe he's a pedophile? Why would he try to grab Erwan with him otherwise? The idea sends a shiver of disgust down my spine. Yet, a part of me tells me that I can't keep suspecting the worst from everyone, that I can't live my life in fear, expecting every man I meet to try to rape me or someone else. When I watch at the man from a short distance, he doesn't look threatening. He's rather skinny and not really tall. His hair is neat, and he wears good quality clothing. I think to myself that should a fight occur, it would probably be easy for me to win thanks to the element of surprise my dagger would probably create before shaking my head to myself. I'm really incorrigible.

He just nods with an infuriating smile to my answer. He still holds Erwan's hand, and asks him: "What do you say? Do you prefer eating at the camp?" He tilts his head towards the kid's ear and whispers something I can't hear, then Erwan says firmly: "I don't want to eat at the camp! I want to come with you!'. With his free hand, he catches his brother's and says: "Join us!". The man nods again with a smile meant to look comforting and insists: "You can all come with us if you worry about your friend, I have enough for everyone to eat and like that you'll be sure everything is fine. If I wanted to do any of you harm I wouldn't stand a chance against four strong and young people like yourselves anyway"

At the insistence of his little brother, Jens gives up and no matter what I do, I can't convince them to not follow the man. Who would listen to a six years old anyway… I sigh to myself, disappointed by the educative skills of the parents of the children surrounding me. I still follow them though, to be able to protect them in case of need. My dagger is at its place, hanging at my ankle. Also, I can not live in fear forever. So, even if my instinct is screaming me to leave, I follow silently the others to face my fear. The man introduces himself with the name of Carsten and starts speaking enthusiastically about modeling. He's rather credible, and his passion convinces the others to chill.

Arthur stays close to me, with his usual clueless look, although he doesn't seem to find the situation odd. We walk for a few minutes along the coastline before heading towards a small house hidden between two dunes. It looks a bit old and looks more like a pool house than a real mansion. The man goes in first, letting Erwan's hand go. We all follow him inside, and find ourselves in a dark room.

By the time my eyes get used to the lack of light, I see that our host is standing in the middle of the room. I see him taking a long object from his pocket before turning to me. He aims to the door with the thing, a long wooden stick, and says out loud "Colloportus!". The door makes a sucking sound and try opening it, suddenly panicking, but it doesn't work.

Beside me, Arthur screams "You're a wizard!", while my brain is still processing what is happening. The man just points his wand towards Jens, then William, then me while muttering a new spell: "Petrificus totalus!". As soon as he pointed me with his wand I find myself unable to move. I am aware of what is happening, within the limits of what my shocked brain manages to understand. I try to contain the panic threatening to swallow me whole, my instincts feeling a visceral revulsion against this forced immobility. However, I manage to remain calm, after making a conscious effort not to panic. It's not the first time I do something like this. In my first life, I already managed to push away claustrophobia when doing speleology for instance, when I was about to go through an especially tight tunnel for instance.

Now that my panic is temporary contained, a second thing hits me: I'm immobilized by a spell! Like in Harry Potter! Those are the same words, the same effects than in the books I read in my first life. I regain consciousness of my environment. The room is still dark. I can see Jens and William paralyzed next to me. Erwan hasn't been cursed, and just observes the scenes with an absurd lack of emotions. The wizard is not directing his wand towards Arthur who remains motionless, looking shocked, but not for the same reasons as me.  
"You're a wizard! Why are you attacking muggles? One should never make magic in their presence! What do you want from us?"  
The man looks amused, and answers in an unpleasantly calm voice, while lighting a lantern with a spell:  
"Indeed, I'm a wizard. You know, making magic in presence of muggles is only a problem if it endangers the Secret… But that Secret is safe, as the dead can't speak. For what I want, you'll find out very soon, my dear. I'm glad you're here, I rarely have the opportunity to meet wizards here, even if you'll probably cause me some trouble. Why are you there?"  
"I'm on holidays with a cousin. Let us go, and we'll keep our mouth shut!"  
"You're cute… I thought I'd start with the small kid, and save the youngest for last, but in the end I'd rather take care of you first. Come to me. And don't even think about running away. You know how magic works, and that you have no chance to escape me."

While a part of me is listening to them, the rest of me observes my surroundings frantically. We're in an almost bare room with two windows with closed shutters. The only light comes from the lantern that the man light up after petrifying us. In a corner of the ceiling I can see a trap door that probably leads to an attic. A closed door on my right doesn't give me more information. Behind the man, there's an old wooden bed, a nightstand and a chair on which the man sits when telling Arthur to join him.

Speaking about him, he is not really resisting, and seems to have trouble fully understanding the situation. He looks scared and shocked by the threat the man brings to him, materialized by his wand. A part of me is working at max capacity, having already put aside the existence of magic to focus on the most pressing matters. From how calm the man is, how chilled he acts and talks, I can tell he is used to what he's doing. He knows what he's doing, he already did it. He's not afraid of being interrupted and trusts his power. He orders Arthur to undress, and when he doesn't react fast enough for his taste he petrifies Erwan as well before coming back to Arthur that froze. The pedophile tells him again to undress, but when my friend refuses the man just sighs before saying, almost delicately: "Imperio".

He tells again Arthur to undress and this time my friend starts obeying, expressionless. Meanwhile, the pedophile walks towards us, examining us as if we were for sale. He strokes Jens's torso before coming to me, touching my butt. If I wouldn't already have been paralyzed, that would have petrified me of horror. This disgusting touch makes so many memories surfacing, reminds me of feelings that I never forgot despite my body switch. I instantly feel soiled, and I shut myself in a corner of my mind, blocking any emotion, in a state of shock, but don't manage to go deep enough in myself to not feel anything any more. I want to badly to destroy the spell maintaining me here to run away, and I can almost distinguish a complex web of brilliant threads tangled tight around me. At the same time, a part of me is paralyzed, unable to react even if it would have been possible. I recognize this sensation, and I hate it. I would cry out of rage if I could from feeling that again. Nothing changed. Nothing ever does.

My attention painfully refocuses on what is happening in front of me, and I can't escape, unable as I am to even close my eyes. The pedophile is circling around Arthur and tells him to caress himself. My friend clumsily obey, still imprisoned by the imperio. I would like to help him, and once again I almost visualize the nexus of luminescent threads around me impeding me, but I don't manage to destroy it. I'm scared, and still tetanized. The asshole finally gets bored and starts caressing Arthur himself. At this moment, I forget my blockages and my traumas, or rather I use them as fuel, because I know how Arthur is feeling and will feel if it keeps going. I don't care what happens to me, as I already did before killing myself. But when it comes to my friends, I can't remind indifferent. Never have been able not to care. I don't know that kid this well, and he's a lot younger than me. But he showed me affection, and kept me company this week. I can't let that man do this. I won't let this bastard traumatize a friend for life! Never.

A protective rage fills me and I see once again the brilliant web of the spell around me, but this time it doesn't stop me, it explodes. I leap forward without asking myself how I got free, but the pedophile sees me and just paralyzes me again. I barely got closer, however it's enough to make him forget Arthur. He stops in front of me after telling my friend to stop moving, and says: "So you're a small witch, uh? Also on holidays? Is her from your family?". When Arthur denies it, the man thinks a bit, then a predatory grin stretches his lips. He aims his wand at me and says "In that case, given your motivation, I guess I can take care of you.". And then, he pronunces again the reviled spell as I'm looking for an escape. "Imperio".

Immediately, I feel as though I were in a trance, unable to make my own body move. I can see and understand what is happening, but from far away, and my body is disconnected from the horror that fills every inch of me. The pedophile tells me to get closer to him and to undress, and my body starts obeying while I'm stuck inside my head. The wizard starts masturbating in front of me. At the moment I'm about to remove my shoes, Arthur comes behind him with a chair in his hand. He smashes it onto the bastard's arm without causing much damage, I think, but it's enough to make him drop his wand. The spell breaks and without thinking I grab my dagger and jump to the pedophile's throat. I stick my blade into his neck with all the strength I have and I feel it sinking into it almost effortless. I think I got his windpipe. He pushes me away almost instantly, but it's too late.

I land on the ground, half naked, and I see him trying to compress his throat while looking for his wand with his second hand. I see it before him, and I take it while moving away from him. He tries to follow me but only manage to take a few steps before falling. He tries to speak, but his voice gets lost in a blood and air gurgling. Arthur is further away, on my right, and observes the scene with his hands tense on the chair, frightened to death.

Eventually, after a minutes that feels like an eternity, the pedophile stops moving while the pool of blood on his clothes and on the ground besides him stops growing. Jens, William and Erwan are able to move again. They talk and cry all at the same time but I ignore them. I go to check on Arthur that is still holding his chair, and I gather his clothes on the ground at the same time as mine. He puts them back without a word while the others open the door to run away. Before they can do it, though, I scream them to wait. They listen to me, maybe scared by the bloody knife in my hand. Or maybe they feel that I'm in control and they trust me, forgetting my age.

I tell them that we should stay here together, let us the time to get our clothes, and that I need a cell phone to call help. Arthur says in a shaking voice that he has one and gives it to me while the others go in the next room that turns out to be a kitchen, to not see the corpse any more. My friend eventually drops his chair and curls up in a ball on the corner that is the further away from the body. Even I avoid to look at it more than necessary. I'm totally keeping my composure, like always when I'm in a crisis situation, and my emotions are put in stand-by. I focus on what I have to do. If what I read in Harry Potter books has any truth in it, it's obvious for me that I have to tell some wizards what happened so that they can take care of it, to preserve the Secret that Arthur mentioned earlier.

I ask as delicately as I can to my friends if he has a way to communicate with his family. He tells me his mom's number is registered on his phone, that she gave him for his muggle holidays. He doesn't seem to notice that he's giving me useless details, and doesn't look surprised by my knowledge of his world. In the end, he calls his mum himself, and explains with difficulty what happened. Some tears roll down his cheeks but he doesn't break down. Eventually, he gives me the phone and I explain that some muggle children are with us and are at risk to spread the news if we wait for too long. I then proceed to explain exactly where we are and Arthur's mother, quite destabilized, guarantees me that she's calling the Obliviators and that she's on her way.

Once Arthur and I are finally done putting our clothes back on, I notice the pedophile's wand on the ground. I need to get it, it's probably my only chance to have one before I'll be eleven (if Harry Potter books are true, of course), and I could really make use of it. I refrain my reflex to pocket the wand cause I know the wizards will likely be looking for it, and if they use an accio they'll get me instantly. No, I have to hope that I'll have a good opportunity, maybe just before leaving? I notice that Arthur's eyes keep on going back to the corpse, so I cover it with the bed's sheet. I make it so that the wand is also covered. If I'm lucky the Obliviators won't look for it.

After that, we remain silently side by side for a few minutes before I find in myself to open the kitchen door and tell the children that we'll be rescued soon. Jens is holding Erwan tight and I'm happy for him, that he's still able to handle physical contact. I leave the room, I want to be alone, so I just walk to the doorstep and stay there. Arthur stays with me. He doesn't say anything, and I don't have any word to offer. Eventually we here noise outside, and Arthur opens the door. There's a group of adults standing on the other side, four in total, all with normal clothes. A woman leads the group, she is the only one without a wand in her hand. When he sees her, Arthur runs into his arms while calling her "mommy!".

The Obliviators visit the house pretty fast, one of them carefully examining the corpse without paying attention to the wand nor touching anything while an other takes care of the children (including me, which is annoying). I see the last one opening the trapdoor on the ceiling, then levitating to the attic (LEVITATING FOR FUCK SAKE, one, what the fuck, and two I also want to do it!). He gets down pretty fast, and whispers something in one of his colleague's hear with a disgusted look on his face. The Obliviators finish to clean the scene, and the one that was examining the body covers it again with the sheet. I assume they're waiting for us to leave before doing anything with it.

The muggles are led to the kitchen again, and I can see through the half-open door two Obliviators making them sleep then use spells to clean their memory and give them fake memories. Arthur is holding his mother's hand, and the last Obliviator is speaking with her. I don't really know where to go and am content with listening to what is happening. I don't know what the adults are planning on doing with me.

In any case there's no way I'd let anyone mess up with my brain or make me lose my memory. Knowing that magic exists… That's a crucial piece of information for me! It can explain why I'm alive, I'm sure! My research cooul progress so much. There's also so many things I'd like to test, and I'll be able to fly… No question of taking this away from me, even if I really go to Hogwarts when I'll be eleven. Also, it is a matter of personality. No matter how unpleasant today's event are, how bad they'll damage me, I have to face them, and they'll build me whether I remember them or not. For this reason as well I can't allow myself to forget anything. It belongs to me. I am myself only through my memories and thoughts, I don't even have my body, my family or the people I cared about before I died to remind me of who I was. It's all I have.

Eventually the Obliviators regroup and start wondering what they should do with me. I hear them say "She is a muggle born, she should be treated like the muggles, out of safety reasons." I expected it, but I'm still flabbergasted by their nerve. Taking such an important decision without consulting me… Okay, they think I'm six years old, but still! They don't explain me anything, and they think they can decide at my stead what is good for me? I can feel the anger rising inside of me, and I step to them while they're still speaking. Arthur's mum is with her son, out of the way, but I know he's watching. Will he be an ally?  
"I refuse to lose my memories. You're not allowed to steal them from me."  
The wizards turn towards me, surprised, and one of them answers:  
"Sorry kid, but you're living among those we call muggles, and even if the abilities you showed today make you one of us, it'll still be years before you'll join our world. It'd be to dangerous to let you go with what you know."  
"I know what muggles are." I say, coldly. "I read Harry Potter years ago!"  
"Years ago? How old are you, kid?"  
"I'm six, and I read the books back when I was four. I'm what the muggles call a precocious child, or gifted, if you like. I'm more mature than I should be. Don't take me for a dumb child that speaks too much. I know when to shut up, and I know that the Secret must be protected. Hell, I am the one who decided to call you! If you don't trust me, then use a spell to prevent me from talking about the magic world until I'm of age to enter it, but don't make me forget anything!"  
The Obliviators look at each other in confusion, and I know I surprised them with my words and my intelligence. I'm worried that I did too much, but my integrity is at stake. I can't allow myself to lose my memory, the point of the discussion. The idea of "precocious" is blurry to me, so it should be even more complicated for wizard, and hopeful they won't find me too odd. Eventually, the same Obliviator speaks again, with the silent support of his mates. I deduce that he must be their leader.  
"You're speaking as an adult, so I will talk to you as if you were one." he starts, with an encouraging smile. "You need to understand that we can't let a muggle born child in her muggle environment with the knowledge you have. It's taking a risk. You're smart, so tell me. What will we do if for instance you do experiments with magic and hurt some muggles, or reveal secrets? I have a counter proposition: we can lock your memory instead of erasing it, until you go to Hogwarts. At this moment, we'll give you your memories back, and we'll make sure that you receive psychological support to help you put those memories at the right place."

He looks reasonable, sure of himself, and I know I can't run away. Yet, it's the thing I want the most right now. I can hear in his voice that he's convinced of what he's saying and that he won't trust me. Despair starts filling me, along with frustration. A part of me wonders if I wouldn't be better off slicing my throat so that I wouldn't have to lose my memories. But I know it wouldn't improve my situation, especially as they'd probably manage to "save" me. That's why I retort, with a voice that is starting to shake:  
"Let me my memories, I'm begging you. Whether I remember them or not, they will shape me, and if I don't remember I might suffer even more from it. They belong to me, don't you get it? What happened today was awful, okay. But I don't regret to have protected my friend, and I don't want to forget everything that I've learn today, it's important for me!  
Arthur's mother, who had come closer during our debate, cuts us at that moment, Arthur still clinging to her hand.  
"Sorry for interrupting you, but the problem here would be to let this young girl by herself in a muggle environment, at the risk she could cause problems?"  
"Indeed"  
"If my family vouches for her, would you accept to let her those memories she seem to care about so much?"  
"Well, it could indeed work. But are you sure that you and your family want to take this responsibility? It implies that if this child causes any problem in relation with magic, you will be hold responsible. You could have to pay fines, and if what she does is really bad she will lose her memories anyway."  
"This kid saved my son's life today, and all the other children's at the same time. And even more. So yes, I take the risk and my family will take it as well. That is, if it suits you, of course" adds Arthur's mum, turning towards me.  
"It suits me." I say, gratefully "Thank you very much."  
"Well, in that case I guess we're done. I'd advise you to consult a Mind Healer for your son, and the girl will probably need one too. For the rest you just need to sign an attestation saying that you're responsible for the kid, then you'll be free to go. Come with me." he turns to his colleagues. "I want one of you bringing the muggle kids back to a place where the people taking care of them will find them, and one of you to start cleaning the attic. And please, boys, discretion!"

And that's how I find myself alone with Arthur in front of the door, while his mother goes to the kitchen with the Obliviators' chef. I feel so relieved. The tension doesn't leave me, though, and I still need to find a way to bring the pedophile's wand with me. While I'm trying to solve that problem, Arthur tells me, with hesitation:  
"Mom told me that I won't go back to the camp, she wants us to go back home as soon as we'll be done here… Do you want to come with us? We can bring you drive you to your place tomorrow."  
"How will you go there?"  
"We'll apparate there, do you know what it is?"  
"Yes, I remind you that I read Harry Potter. Well, maybe you don't know what it is… Anyway, it could be nice, if it's fine with your parents. I don't really want to stay around."  
"Don't worry, I'm sure she already planned to do that anyway. So, it's true that you only know the magic world through books?"  
"Yes, are they saying the truth?"  
"I don't really know, I've never read them, but they're known for being close to the truth without being totally accurate. If I understood right, the information muggles could verify are false, but those about the wizards are mostly true."  
"I see."

Arthur looks more relaxed than earlier, but avoids looking in the direction of the corpse, contrary to myself. Since I know it's possible that I leave by apparition, I look a lot at the body's direction, cause the wand I want is still next to it, under the sheet. The problem, it's that if the adults realize that I have it before I can hide it in a safe place, it could endanger my hold on my memories. And thinking about it, it could also embarrass Arthur's family. But this wand offers me too many possibilities for me to give up on it. And Arthur's mom decided to take a risk after all. Also, if they understand that I have it I can play the poor traumatized child that just wanted something to defend herself against baaaaad people (which is technically part of my reasons, if we only keep the part where I defend myself). Those are the reasons why I signal Arthur to keep quiet and walk discretely to the corpse. The adults in the kitchen can't see us, and the Obliviator in the attic seems to still be busy. I wonder what is up there, but I won't take the risk to lose the wand to find out.

I lift the sheet, fumbling a bit while avoiding to touch at the corpse cooling down, without being able to prevent me from taking a look. I finally take he wand and sticks it in the elastic of my trousers before putting my shirt back on it. It is quite big and efficiently hides the wand. I go back to Arthur that whispers to me frantically (yes, it's possible, and I appreciate the common sense he shows):  
"What are you doing?"  
"I need this wand, I'm living with muggles and didn't know I was a witch before today. I want to be able to defend myself, please, you're my friend and you know what happened, it's my only chance to have a wand before going to Hogwarts. Just having it will comfort me. I know it's a lot I'm asking you for, sorry… But can you do that for me? Don't worry, if the adults understand what I did I'll pretend you didn't know anything."  
Arthur seems a bit shaken, but doesn't hesitate before answering:  
"Alright, you can trust me."  
He's cute, I'd almost hug him. Well, if I'd have been a normal kid and would have been able to handle physical contact. Haha. If I would have been a normal kid, nothing like that would have happened anyway, or at least not that way.

Shortly after the adults come back and Arthur's mother indeed proposes me to come to their place so that I don't have to go back to the camp after what happened. I think she feels like she owes me, but also that she would like to get to know me better. After all, she took risks accepting to be my "magic tutor". In any case, I readily accept, I need to leave fast, before anyone starts asking themselves questions about a certain wand. I don't really know what story will be used to explain our sudden departure from the camp, but I let the adults deal with it. After all, I'm just a harmless kid overtaken by the events, right?

Arthur's mother take her son's hand with an apologetic smile, promising me she'd come back immediately to pick me up. I tell her I'll be waiting for her outside, and I see watch her disappear with a sort of "pop". Even if I intellectually knew that it would be like that, I'm still bugging briefly. Magic… As I suspect that she'll take some minutes to drop her son safely, I go outside of the shack and seat on the ground, my chin resting on my knees. She's quite fast, and comes soon back. She examines me quickly and uses a spell to make the blood on my clothes disappear and clean them a little. Then she asks me if I'm ready and tries to reassure me, but I give her my hand without showing any weakness, hiding both my excitement at the idea of apparating and my disgust at her touch. Apparating is at the same time a quick, puzzling and uncomfortable experience, but strangely enough I don't dislike it. I find the description of a rubber pipe to be pretty accurate.

We arrive in a room that seems to be a vestibule. I hasten to let Arthur's mother's hand go while looking around me. A majestic wooden door faces me, which I assume to be the manor's entrance, because with that room size for the vestibule I can't decently call that building a house. There's a line of coat hangers on the left of the door, and on the right a window lets light in. In front of the front door there's a smaller one, halfway open, and Arthur stands in front of it with a lady that looks very old.  
While I'm staring at her she starts speaking, in an aged but firm voice:  
"Welcome to our home, young girl."

_Partir chercher le bout du monde  
__Vagabonde  
__Nulle part chez moi et partout à ma place  
__Trouver des souvenirs que rien n'efface_

_Partir pour m'enfuir loin d'ici  
__En sursis  
__Et peut-être de merveille en nouveauté  
__Trouver une raison de toujours exister_

_Partir pour ne pas avoir à me souvenir  
__Ne pas souffrir  
__Chercher une voie et disparaître  
__Loin de ceux qui ont pu me connaître*_

_*Go looking for the end of the world  
__Hobo  
__No where home and everywhere at my place  
__Finding memories that nothing erases_

_Go to run away far from here  
__On borrowed time  
__And maybe from wonder to novelty  
__Find a reason to keep on existing_

_Leave to not have to remember  
__Not to suffer  
__Look for a way and disappear  
__Away from those who may have known me_

-SMS sent by Aurore Berger to Quentin Lemage on the 18/09/07-

* * *

Soo, what did you think guys? A lot of input in this chapter, right?  
See you at some point for the next one.


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